Lake Mabprachan, 9th April, 2011

What I did today, apart from write a long daily blog, was to complete my proof reading and final edit , (for now), of chapter 6 of my novel in progress – ‘Som Nam Na‘.

I am publishing it here, below, in my daily blog and also under the ‘Som Nam Na‘ tab. I hope you enjoy it and trust that you haven’t forgotten all about the story since the last episode was published.

The X-Files

No, this isn’t about aliens, goblins, ghosts or other mysterious extra-terrestrials and other unworldly activities. This is about very worldly activities – x-rated activities.

During the past two years I have blogged at some length about my X-rated adventures in the bars and brothels of Pattaya and beyond. These days, my exploits in this area have been substantially curtailed, but as they say somewhere: ‘you can’t keep a good man down’. So, I regret to say, you can’t quite keep a frisky Mobi down, in spite of the fact that he is now happily shacked up with the lovely Noo. There are simply too many gorgeous, sexy ladies out there for someone, still with burgeoning hormones, to remain completely monogamous and as long as Noo doesn’t know, then no harm is done.

So for those who do not wish to read about the seedy side of Mobi, I suggest you move on to the next subject.

Yesterday, Noo told me that she would be stopping by her old place of employment, (the first time this has happened) to buy a few of her old bar friends a drink to celebrate her birthday. I told her that would be fine and immediately decided to go out myself and do a bit of misbehaving.

In the event, as I wanted to finish chapter 6 of my novel and publish the day’s blog before leaving, I wasn’t ready to leave home until just after 4 pm. I was about to close the front gate when who was to turn up? – none other than the delectable Noo, back home after a lightning visit to her old place of employment.

Not to be discouraged, I told Noo I was going out to meet up with some friends and she gave me her blessing. My first port of call was to check out a new bar that had just opened along the road near the Pong market and Wat. One of my old drinking buddies had told me about it so I met him there for a quick reckie. The place was OK- ish. Obviously the owner had spent a bit of cash on it, but quite frankly it was just more of the same. Nothing different, nothing original – just a bog-standard bar, high leather backed bar stools and the obligatory pool table and large flat screen TV’s which are turned off . Tinny sounding, generic techno pop music blared out in the background through a cheap, inadequate stereo system. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all and quite why every new bar -owning farang believes that it will surely be his place that will turn him into a millionaire, is totally beyond me. The only thing that makes any bar worse or better than the next one down the road is the quality and quantity of the girls who work there. Thus you can find the most primitive, badly constructed, uncomfortable bars with the largest number of punters, purely because they have a good, attractive supply of friendly girls.

I had a quick Diet Coke with my friend, who had already been there for a couple of hours and was pretty pissed. This meant that his conversation bordered on the banal and he kept repeating himself over and over. I have written about him from time to time and had a mega falling out with him for many months, but we are now back on good terms after he offered his hand in apology. He is an alcoholic and starts drinking beer in the early morning and calls it a day at around 6 p.m. as he can’t see to drive home in the dark!

There were a couple of other farangs at the bar and 3 or 4 girls of indeterminate quality, none of them good enough to make it into Mobi’s drink list. The owner arrived in a pickup, looking very hassled and worried. His wife, a nice looking lady, immediately greeted me by my Thai nickname. This is a name, (Let’s call it Udom, but it’s not really…), that I use in certain bars – mainly for fun. The girls love it, and once they know me by this Thai name they always use it whenever they see me.

I didn’t recognise the lady but she sure as hell knew me. I couldn’t think where she was from but finally concluded that she was probably from one of the nearby short time bars that I frequent as that is the only bar I could think of in the vicinity of the lake where the girls use my Thai pseudonym. I didn’t want to embarrass her by not recognising her or not knowing where she was from, so I just smiled and said ‘Hello…’

Deciding I’d had enough of this boring new bar, with its unappetising collection of ladies and an ex whore who knew me, now married to an owner who didn’t even look at me, much less welcome me to his new establishment, I left my unfinished Coke and drove off to pastures new.

My next Port of Call was the wonderfully raunchy establishment in Soi Kownoi. Now the girls here are also not very beautiful, most of them having seen better days, but what they lack in looks, they more than make up for in friendliness. They also have a particular gimmick, which some of these other, less successful establishment could do well to emulate. The ladies do not wear any nickers! I had barely got inside the door before one of the older ladies had spotted me and immediately came over and sat next to me with her hand immediately exploring my nether regions. I stared to explore her body with my hand, and sure enough, I found a fully shaven little yum yum, literally shedding tears of anticipation. I was soon also joined by a younger, prettier girl who had the most amazing bum I have seen – or felt – in a long time. She was no youngster, maybe around 30, but she had a very horny-looking face and her fleshy thighs and big round bum were quite delicious, as indeed was her yum yum. So on my right I had the older the woman, with her hand doing things that were making me sweat a little and on my left, the younger lady with the gorgeous bum, had lifted her little tartan skirt up above her waist and was rubbing her naked bum against my left knee, in time with the background techno-rap, whilst I was rogering her yum yum with my left hand. After ten minutes and a couple of ladies drinks, the big arsed lady told me she was coming. This was an unexpected development, and she may have been lying, but the look on her face convinced me otherwise. She was one horny lady, and was not averse to the other ladies in the bar giving her arse cheeks a nice little slap, and even tiny pinches during the process of her reaching her orgasms. As I said, it is a very raunchy establishment; just the ticket for an ageing Mobi, who needs new and ever more perverted entertainment to get him going.

I finally grew weary of all this raunch, paid my bill and took off for my next den of iniquitous sin – one of my old favourites, a short time place off Nern Plub Wan. I nearly gave it a miss when I saw how many pick-ups and motor bikes were parked outside – there were obviously busy – but in the end I decided to give it a go as I was a hungry and if there weren’t any spare ladies, at least I could have one of their excellent baguettes and then move on.

It was busy-ish but not as busy as I was expecting from all the vehicles parked outside, and there were several ‘free’ girls lounging around. Maybe many of the punters were in the back rooms. This place has a much higher quality of ladies than the Kow Noi establishment and on past occasions I have met some very beautiful ladies working there. The best looking ones rarely last very long as they are usually ‘snapped up’ by some wife-hunting farang. But I have to concede that they seem to have one of the best recruiting systems in the area, for as fast as they lose girls, they seem to find new ones to take their place – something that most other bars miserably fail to do, which leads to their inevitable demise.

I spotted a very lovely lady, by the name of Pon, who had I sat with a week or so back and it wasn’t long before she was on my lap, ministering to my every need. She was a little taller than I usually like my ladies, but she was extraordinarily beautiful. She had her hair tied up in a sort of bun to reveal exquisitely carved facial features – a classic Thai beauty. Her body was slim and her legs, barely covered by a clinging silky red mini-dress seemed to go on forever. I was allowed to run my hands just about anywhere on her body, but whenever I got close to her yum yum I was exhorted adjourn to a back room and have my wicked ways in private. It was unusual for this place where the girls are not at all pushy, and to be fair, neither was Pon for the most part, but whenever I tried to hit the jackpot, it would provoke yet another plea to have a boom boom in one of the rooms. She was a beautiful, classy looking lady, but after I had finished my baguette I decided that it was time, once again to move on. I am so spoiled!

My third and final stop was at another short time establishment, inside a long, winding soi, off Siam Country Club road. It was at this place that I am known as ‘Udom’ and is the probably the place where the new bar owner’s Thai wife had originated. As ever, I was immediately greeted by my Thai nick name, and by the time I had made it from the garden entrance in the bar grounds to the bar itself, a distance of some 30 meters, I was surrounded by numerous scantily dressed young ladies, all of whom knew me. The place was fairly busy, with a few tables full of beer-guzzling farangs and even at the bar there was quite a crowd, but none of them seemed to making much progress with the ladies, and they all stared at me in astonishment as I sat on my favourite bar stool at the end of the bar and no less than 4 girls were all over me with their hands, before I has even so much as ordered a glass of orange juice.

I finally settled on three of them, deciding that sitting with 4 girls was a bit ostentatious, to say nothing of the practical difficulties of having 4 ladies getting sufficiently close to me, all at one time. Of the chosen three lovelies who started to manhandle me, the eldest was Fon; a slim, thirty something Issan girl from Ubon and was the ‘ring leader and instigator of the degenerate activities. The second, Lek, was a childless 21 year old, ethnic Kymer lovely from Surin, and the third, Dow, was another ethnic Kymer from Surin, 20 years old and utterly gorgeous and sexy.

Although all three women were lovely and ‘turned me on’ Dow was exactly how I like my women. Short in stature, she had a truly lovely face and an extremely curvy figure, with fully fleshed, tight skinned thighs that were so enticing under a figure hugging, turquoise blue micro mini dress that barely covered her yum yum. They surrounded me on my stool, and started their little games. I told them: ‘No coming only fumbling’,as I wanted to save myself for Noo, and this old fart is limited in the amount of indulgences he can enjoy on any given day. But Fon was having none of it – she wanted to earn herself a big tip, and she led the team in a way that soon became irresistible, and it wasn’t too long before I reached the point of no return. Just staring into Dow’s gorgeous face, kissing her gently on her lips, and stroking her beautiful thighs had completely destroyed my self-control. I can have so much fun without ever having to adjourn to one of those seedy, depressing rooms, with threadbare towels, stained sheets and cracked mirrors.

I was back home just after 8 pm. And Noo was delighted to see me. I apologised for being late but she would have none of it, insisting there was nothing to be sorry for. If only she knew.

Early this morning, maybe suspecting that I had been up to something last night, Noo tested my powers of sexual recovery. I was a little concerned, but needn’t have worried. Noo is such a consummate performer that she never fails to get a rise out of me.☺☺

Poetry in music

Today’s song is by one of the most prolific and successful song writing teams in the history of popular music – Elton John and Bernie Taupin, The song I have chosen is the little known: ‘The last song’. It is a very haunting song on a very distressing subject, and it never fails to get me emotionally involved, every time that I listen to it. The song is about a young man, who is dying of HIV- Aids. On his death bed he has been reconciled with his estranged father who had previously disowned him when he discovered his son was gay. I am sure that it has been based on many a true story.

Those of you who have read Mobi’s story, Mardie , Azzy and the opening chapters of my new novel will be well aware of the traumatic relationship I had with my own father. He didn’t disown me – nor I him, but if there was ever any love between us, it was never expressed. When he died, on the other side of the world from where I was living, I got unbelievably drunk and cried my eyes out for a love that had never been and for a father who had caused me so much untold misery.

I won’t say ‘enjoy’, but please share with me in appreciating this incredibly moving song.

SIX

Bobby rose just after 8 am after spending three restless hours trying to get to sleep. When he realised that his chosen whore for the night had gone for good, following the horrendous accident on Second Road, he had stalked off angrily to his guesthouse room nearby, crashing alone at around 5 am; but try as he might he wasn’t able to drop off for more than five minutes.

So in the end he gave up the unequal struggle and decided to get out of bed, get some coffee inside him and walk back down Second Road and attend the Good Morning Pattaya, daily, 9 am AA meeting. Before he had arrived at the beach in search of a lady, several hours ago, Bobby had swallowed two Viagra tablets, anticipating several hours of non-stop sex. So now, his sexual urges unrequited, he felt very out of sorts and realised that the after-effects of Viagra, as much as the accident and loss of his whore, were contributing greatly to his current state of flux and his inability to sleep.

The AA meeting was full of the usual ‘dry drunks’ many of them having been living in Pattaya for many years. Between them, they boasted decades of sobriety. By comparison, Bobby, with his mere eight years of abstinence, was a veritable rookie. The meeting followed its usual course. It opened with the introductory preamble, whichwas read by the chairman of the meeting and was followed by the reading of the usual extract from the ‘Big Book’, including the recitation of the AA twelve step programme, by one of the attendees. Then came the reading of ‘Reflection of the day’- a different reflection for each day of year – then finally, after about ten minutes, the meeting was thrown open for general ‘sharing’.

Bobby, the master orator, had long since learned that his extraordinary debating skills were of little use at AA meetings. ‘Sharing’ differs from a general discussion in as much as whoever is sharing may not be interrupted and no ‘cross-talk’ is permitted. If anyone wishes to comment in any way on the substance of a ‘share’, he must await his own turn to share before making his views known. By and large this works pretty well and is the main reason that meetings rarely dissolve into acrimonious arguments. Whatever the participants views may be on a particular matter concerning alcoholism, he or she usually respects other people’s views and lets them ‘share’ without rancour or interruption. This in itself is a remarkable achievement, particularly when taking into account that a typical AA meeting – especially those being held in Pattaya – are comprised of many people who have spent much of their lives in jails or in mental institutions, and have often been violent and cruel to those around them, including their own families. Many AA members are often suffering from severe depression and have been through ‘hell and back’ in the bars and gutters of the world’s skid rows.

Bobby wryly realised that he was a typical recovering alcoholic and that his story was representative of so many in terms of the depths that his life had sunk to in the years before he was ‘saved’ by his brother Joseph. He knew that although he had been successful in staying sober for eight years, he still had more character defects than most people and that his violent temper was still liable to erupt at any moment, usually without warning. Finally, his attempts to work the twelve step programme had, in recent years, been woefully inadequate.

The meeting was starting to have a relaxing, almost therapeutic effect on him. One member of the Irish contingent was recounting his story of life in the bars, the hell holes and the jails of Ireland and how he reached his rock bottom when he was serving a 5 year sentence in Mountjoy Prison in Dublin, sharing cells with IRA terrorists who threatened to kill him, virtually every day of his incarceration. It was there that he was visited by a member of the AA and his life started to take a turn for the better, eventually resulting in his total sobriety for more than 20 years.

There was a pause after the Irishman finished talking and Bobby took the opportunity to speak.

‘I’m Bobby, I’m an alcoholic.’

‘Hi Bobby,’ the group responded.

‘I’ve been sober for eight years. I reached my ‘rock bottom’ in 2001, when I was up before a judge in a LA courtroom and was about to go down for the count. It was my ‘third strike’ – I’d been caught stealing liquor from a local liquor store and I fully expected the judge to throw the book at me. Then, by some miracle my brother, who I hadn’t seen or made contact with for many years, suddenly appeared in court and somehow managed to get me off the charges. It was truly a miracle and whatever ‘Higher Being’ controls this Universe, he was certainly in that courtroom on that incredible morning, batting for my side.

‘My brother took me to a detox clinic to dry out and under the orders of the judge I had to start attending AA meetings. Since then, wherever I have been in the world, I have tried to attend AA meetings and I have never taken another drop of alcohol.

‘But I have to confess that I have not been a very good person. I have tried to work the steps, but never seem to get very far. I have a sponsor, but moving around the world as I do, we rarely make contact with each other. I still have a terrible temper, although it’s not as bad as it used to be and on top of all that, I can’t claim to have made much progress with all my deplorable character defects.

‘Last night, a man who some of you may know, a practising alcoholic who has seen the inside of these rooms on several occasions, had a terrible accident, just down the road from here. He was obviously pissed out of his mind and he destroyed 4 vehicles, including his own. I don’t know how many people have been killed or maimed and I don’t know what is going to happen to him. Last night he asked for my help, but I just shouted and swore at him. I told him that I hoped he died for what he had done. I have such a terrible temper and when it blows up, I am completely out of control. Now, this morning, after a sleepless night I am starting to realise that ‘There but for the grace of God’ goes me, or you, or you, or you, or you…’

Bobby pointed to each person at the meeting, one after the other and they sat there and nodded at him.

‘The man is sick’… Bobby continued, ‘He needs our help – not our condemnation. The rest of Pattaya and indeed the whole world will hate and revile him for what he has done, and in a way, he deserves everything that will happen to him. But we, in this room, cannot hate him. We know that it could have been any one of us in that car during our drinking days – we have all driven when we were drunk. We have just been lucky.

‘I regret what I said to him last night. He asked me for help. He asked me to contact his estranged wife. But I refused – I just swore at him. I was wrong and after this meeting I will go round to the police station and see what can be done.

‘Thank you for letting me share.’

Bobby looked at the floor, clearly upset by what he had been saying.

Sharing time was up and the meeting was closed. A few members came over to shake Bobby’s hand and asked him the identity of the drunk, but Bobby refused to tell them. He made his excuses and left the room, heading off down the road towards the police station.

*

When he entered Pattaya Police station at around 12.30, he looked around to see if there was any enquiry desk or a free cop who he could ask about Toby’s whereabouts. It was clearly a bad time and the large room was buzzing with activity. At the long counter, Bobby observed a couple of farangs, a man and woman, with blood stained clothes, and clearly in some distress. They were trying to tell one of the station officers in broken English that they had been mugged by a group of drunken Thais and the lady’s handbag had been stolen. The young officer could barely understand what he was being told and seemed uninterested in their story.

Further along the front desk there was an odd looking farang, of indeterminate nationality, who was dressed in some kind of quasi-military uniform. He was a member of the volunteer tourist police force, but was unable to help or translate for the distressed couple as he had his hands full was dealing with a couple of drunken young thugs. They were clearly Brits, judging from the union Jack tattoos that had been etched on the top of their shaven skulls; they were shouting and screaming threats at each other and were being held apart by two uniformed, Thai police patrolmen. Bobby discerned that the source of the argument seemed to be a Thai lady who was sitting on a chair behind them. They kept pointing at her and Bobby gave her a close look. She was a beautiful young thing, looking barely of legal age, wearing the skimpiest of micro white shorts, a bare midriff showing a purple and black image of a large tattooed heart with a spear running through it and a white halter that revealed more of her well-endowed breasts than it succeeded in covering. Bobby was in no doubt she was a whore and the Brits were obviously fighting over her. For a few moments, he became mesmerized with this little domestic dispute. The girl was so gorgeous, but she was definitely outside Bobby’s league. She would never look at a man more than twice her age when she had two young virile Brit’s fighting over her, no matter how much money he was prepared to put on the table.

With a great effort he took his eyes off her and back to the station desk where the third and last official was dealing with a queue of Thais, who had come to report lost driving licences, ID cards and other similar matters. He looked around the room and apart from a mishmash of Thais and a couple of farangs sitting around, presumably waiting for all the kerfuffle to die down, he could see no one who he could ask about Toby. He had decided that he better join the queue of Thais waiting to see the third police official when he spotted an older, uniformed Thai, undoubtedly a more senior officer, enter the public area from an adjacent office.

The officer stopped on his way to the long counter to survey the manic scene. Bobby took his opportunity and yelled out him.

‘Hey! Officer! Can you help me please?’

The policeman looked at Bobby and frowned. What was this man doing, shouting at him? Wasn’t there even one shitting farang in Pattaya who knew how to speak to a commissioned police officer? Angrily, he strode over to Bobby.

‘You! What you want?’

‘I’m… I’m enquiring about my friend. He had an accident early this morning and I think he was arrested.’

‘Arrested? Why?’

‘He was drunk – he had an accident,’ Bobby repeated.

The officer looked at Bobby with irritation. He was Police Lieutenant Niran and he wasn’t in the mood for rude, barbaric farangs. He had just spent a very long night out at one of Pattaya’s illegal gambling dens and had lost a great deal of money, hence his bad humour – all this on top of feeling extremely hungry. He had left his inner sanctum to go out to his favourite rice shop, just along the Beach road and have some breakfast and the last thing he wanted was to be delayed by some fucking farang tourist. But the farang looked as though he wouldn’t be easily brushed off, and short of arresting him, he had little choice but to try and quickly deal with his problem. He walked over to where the young, uniformed officer was dealing with the queue of Thais and asked him for a file. The officer pulled a file from a drawer and handed it to his superior.

‘Your frien’, what he name?’ the Lieutenant brusquely enquired.

‘His name is Toby.’

Toby! Toby who?’

‘I – I don’t know. I’m afraid I don’t know his family name, he never told me.’

‘He not tell you? You really his frien’?

‘Yes he is my friend. Is he here?’

The cop glowered at Bobby and looked once more at his file, seemingly perusing a list of names.

‘Toby… Toby… Toby… No! No Toby here!’ he barked.

‘What? Are you certain? I know he was brought here…’

‘I tell you – Your frein’ not here – I look at list – no Toby! He go home already!’

‘Home?’ Are you sure?’

‘Me sure. Now go away!’ With that, the officer slammed the file down on the desk, walked around into the main waiting area and left Bobby standing as he left the building in search of some desperately needed sustenance.

Bobby watched him leave and scratched his head. Well if his name wasn’t on the list, they must have let him go, or maybe he was sent to hospital, he thought to himself, I’d better go and check the hospitals. There’s only three in Pattaya that he could have gone to.

He walked towards the entrance and as he descended the small flight of concrete steps outside the building, he almost bumped into an attractive young Thai lady who coming towards him. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. They stopped momentarily as they recovered from their brief encounter. The lady looked at Bobby and for her too, there was a fleeting flicker of recognition. Then they both proceeded on their intended ways: Bobby to the nearby Pattaya Memorial Hospital, and the young lady inside the station to talk the desk sergeant.

***

Na had awoken at 11, after barely five hours sleep. She had to be back at work by noon and had no money to feed her family. She felt terrible, due to lack of sleep and the precarious state of her finances. She quickly washed and dressed with the sounds of her mother’s hungry rants ringing in her ears, before hurrying down the corridor of the modest, one storey residential building, to the corner room and started banging frantically on the door. Eventually it was opened by a very sleepy lady in a sarong who angrily demanded to know what all the noise was about.

‘Jaeb, it’s me Na.’

‘What do you want? I’m trying to sleep.’

Jeab, jaa, please , I’m desperate. My family hasn’t eaten since yesterday. Can you lend me five hundred baht? I promise I’ll pay you back tonight.’

‘Five hundred Baht! I’ve only got about eight hundred myself.’

‘Please Jaeb, I’ll pay you tonight. I will get enough Ladies drinks money to pay you back and if I don’t earn enough, I’ll take my fridge to the pawn shop. Please, I beg you…’

Jaeb looked sleepily at Na, and then disappeared inside her room, returning a minute later with her purse. She counted out some money.

‘Here’s four hundred, that’s all I can give you – I need the rest myself to eat and get to work.’

Na took the four hundred gratefully and returned to the room and handed it all over to her mother. She still hadn’t eaten herself since the previous evening but she had no time to do that now. She had to get to work before her salary was docked for being late. After she had clocked in, she would be able to sneak away and grab a quick bite to eat.

Outside in the small sub-soi, she hailed a motorcycle taxi driver and told him to take her to her gentleman’s club, downtown. She was on good terms with the bike owner, who was always stationed outside her apartment block and she knew that she could pay him later for the taxi ride, hopefully when she returned home that evening.

*

It was just on the stroke of twelve when they parked up outside Na’s place of work where she was surprised and alarmed to find the building swarming with cops. Her heart sank and she feared the worst. She tried to go inside but was stopped by a policeman guarding the entrance. She was told that she could not go in. A few seconds later, some of the girls who had arrived before Na walked out of the club entrance and joined her in the yard. They informed her that their farang boss had been arrested and the club was being shut down.

They speculated, correctly as it later transpired, that their boss had obviously not been paying off the police adequately. Maybe the bung money had been increased, but with his ever dwindling business, the farang had resisted their demands. This was the predictable result, under arrest for running a club without a work permit, running an illegal brothel and whatever other ‘crimes’ the police would drum up. This was a warning to other farang bar owners – pay up or else!

Na was despondent. What on earth was she to do now? She was broke and had a starving family to feed. She took out her phone and scrolled through her contacts to see if there were any farangs who she might be able to touch up for a small loan, or maybe find someone who would be interested in a private visit to their home.She made few calls, drawing a blank each time, when she was interrupted by the sight of her boss being led out of the bar in handcuffs, looking very sorry for himself and not a little scared.

‘Now the bastard won’t even pay me the salary he owes me,’ she thought bitterly to herself.

Back to her phone, she continued to scroll and had nearly reached the end of her ‘contacts’. She was at the letter ‘T’ and stopped at the name of ‘Toby’. She thought for a moment. What was the point? Toby was in jail, so there’s no chance there. Or was there? He was in jail and he had asked her for help. She had screamed at him, but now she was starting to regret her outburst. Surely Toby still had some money? Maybe he could help her if she tried to help him? This seemed like a good plan, so she called his number but it was unobtainable. Presumably his phone battery had expired. She considered her situation for few moments before calling her friendly motorbike driver, who was still waiting at the side of the road, watching events with interest.

The bike dropped her in the police station car park and she made her way up the steps to entrance of the two storey building. She all but collided with an elderly, bald headed farang who was coming the other way. She stopped for a moment, and gave him her professional once over. He looked familiar but she couldn’t quite place him. Maybe he had been at her club. Anyway, it was of no importance and she proceeded into the police station to see if she could track down her potential benefactor, one Toby Stark.

She waited patiently in line with the other Thais who were busy obtaining police reports for their lost or stolen property. This was necessary in order to obtain replacements in the case of licences and ID’s and to make a claim, if the item they had lost had been insured. Half an hour later she was at the front of the queue and asked the officer about Toby.

‘Toby?’ the young Thai replied, ‘you are the second person today who has been asking about a Toby.’

‘Oh? Who else has been asking about him?’ Na retorted, in surprise.

‘There was a farang here earlier asking for him. But he’s not here.’

‘Not here? What do you mean?

‘This man – Toby – he’s not here.’

‘Where is he then?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe he was never here. My boss looked at the list and said that nobody called Toby has been here.’

‘The bastard!’ Na thought to herself, ‘He must have paid his way out of here. So he must have money, but why doesn’t he answer his fucking phone?’

‘So, he’s definitely not here?’ She asked once again in desperation.

‘If my boss says he’s not here, then he’s not here!’ Now go! There’s a long line of people behind you I have to deal with before I can go off duty.’

Na wandered back towards the station entrance, trying to think what to do. How could she get some money before this evening? If she could get hold of Toby, maybe he would help, but if not, it was either the fridge, which would be a humiliating disaster, or the dreaded Indian money lenders, which would have even worse long term consequences. She was hardly looking where she was going as she opened the front door of the station and barely missed walking straight into a very pretty, very curvy, well dressed Thai lady, who looked to be in her late twenties. They glanced at each other as they passed, two beautiful women ‘sizing each other up’, but there was not a hint of recognition.

***

Ying had awoken at noon. She felt refreshed after about 7 hours of sleep and climbed out of her huge, four-poster bed and stumbled sleepily into the adjacent en suite bathroom. The hot power shower washed the hangover induced cobwebs from her brain and the events of yesterday flooded back into her mind. Her assistant was ill and the salon would remain closed until she made it there to open up. Yet again, she wondered how many of her customers would go elsewhere when they turned up at her place only to find it closed, with not even a note to say when it would re-open.

She decided to skip breakfast and hurry down to the shop and see what she could salvage from her self–imposed, unscheduled closure. As she drove around the lake towards her shop, the memories of the early morning call from Pattaya Police station started to surface. ‘That fucking Toby,’ she thought to herself, ‘When in God’s name are we going to be free of each other? I wonder what the hell he has got himself into now?’ She was nearing her shop when she recalled what the cop had told her. He had said that Toby might die if she didn’t come down to the police station. What had she said him in reply? She struggled to remember; she had been half asleep. It came back to her slowly; she had told him that she didn’t care what the fuck happened to Toby. Then suddenly she remembered exactly what she had said: ‘Let him fucking die!’ ‘Oh my God!’ she thought, ‘Why on earth did I say that?’

Memories of Don, all those years ago, came flooding back. Don, the magnificently handsome Thai lover, who had taken her on all those sexual adventures, journeys of ecstasy that had never since been equalled; Don, the wild, handsome criminal who was so full of fun and daring. Don, the risk taker who had become transformed into a sad and desperate heroin addict; Don the lover who had hanged himself in their kitchen after she had threatened to leave him…..

And now here was Toby. Was history repeating itself? Surely not, but could she ever live with herself if yet another one of her men died? Her heart was starting to race as she fearfully contemplated what might have happened. She had reached her shop, parked up and pulled the keys from her bag to open up, but her mind was on Toby and what might be going on in the downtown nick. He was old and sick and he couldn’t control his drinking. What had he done? Had he been involved in another accident? Was he hurt? Did he hurt anyone? She unlocked the shop door but her mind was buzzing with many unanswered questions; if Toby died what then? She would get the house – that was for sure, but maybe it would be her fault that he died – her fault yet again.

Suddenly she made a decision. She picked up a pad from a table near the door and scribbled a note in Thai, then found some tape and stuck it on the front window; ‘Closed due to family bereavement’. Locking up again, she jumped back into her car and headed off for the twenty minute journey to downtown Pattaya.

*

It was 1.30 in the afternoon when Ying parked up in the car park and made her way into the police station. As she opened the door, she almost bumped into an attractive looking lady on her way out. Ying, always appreciative of pretty young ladies, gave the girl an admiring glance before continuing on her way into the station building.

The station was still busy and Ying looked around for someone to talk to. She saw a young uniformed patrolman come out of a back room and head for the front door. He was holding a regulation police crash helmet and she assumed he was going out on patrol. She smiled her winning smile and stopped the man in his tracks.

‘Excuse me, officer; I am looking for Lieutenant Somkid. Can you tell me where I can find him?’ Ying had thankfully recalled the name of the officer who had called her at home, during her journey into Pattaya.

‘Lieutenant Somkid?’ the young policeman replied, ‘He’s not here. He hasn’t come on duty yet. He won’t be here until the evening shift starts.’

‘Oh dear,’ the smile on Ying’s face starting to evaporate, ‘Lieutenant Somkid – he called me last night – something has happened to my husband. Is there anyone who can help me?’

The policemen looked at the very attractive young lady in front of him, he wanted to help. ‘What is your husband’s name, I will check for you.’

‘Toby – his name is Toby. Toby Stark.’

‘Toby? He’s a farang?

‘Yes, he’s a farang. Can you find out if he is here?

When he realised that this hauntingly beautiful lady was married to a farang, his attitude changed. ‘These rich fucking farangs who come to Pattaya and steal all our beautiful women with their fucking money!’ he thought to himself.

But he had already said he would help, so he brusquely repeated, ‘Toby, you say?’

‘Yes, Toby.’

He walked over to the desk where the officer was still dealing with the line of Thais and asked him for the day’s incident file.

‘Why?’ the station officer asked, ‘Why do you want it?’

‘I want to check on a name.’

‘Name! What name?’

‘Toby. Is anyone called Toby in the log? Maybe he was arrested.’

‘Toby!’ the officer retorted angrily, ‘You are the third person this morning to ask about a fucking Toby! What is it with this Toby? No! There’s no fucking Toby in the log. He’s not here!’

‘All right all right,’ the patrolman replied in a placating tone. Keep your hair on; I was only asking. Thanks anyway.’

He returned to where Ying was standing to report that there was no one by the name of Toby in the police log and therefore not in the station, and before she could enquire further he walked off and out of the station to start his afternoon shift.

Ying stood riveted to the spot, not knowing what to do. ‘Well if he’s not here, and there is no record of him, then maybe everything is all right. Maybe I overreacted’ she reasoned. She wasn’t sure, but was starting to convince herself that Toby was fine and that it had all been some kind of a storm in a teacup. She suddenly realised that she was starving. She hadn’t eaten since last night and was starting to feel distinctly queasy, so without further ado, she quickly hurried out of the station and hurried along Beach road to a nearby roadside noodle shop where she devoured a bowl of baa mee nam followed by a delicious dish of som tum pala. She was feeling better already. ‘Fuck Toby!’ she said out aloud, ‘Making me drive all the way down here on a wild goose chase.’

***

Blissfullyunaware of the fruitless enquires that had been made on his behalf, not twenty meters below where he was lying prostrate on the cell floor. Toby knew that he was going downhill fast. He was so weak that he was unable to even lift his head from the hard concrete to see what was going on around him. He had no idea how many prisoners were now crammed into the cell, although he vaguely recalled much clanking and rattling of the cell doors as yet more miscreants were dumped inside. It had become insufferably hot and humid but Toby barely noticed. His lack of food, alarmingly high blood sugar levels, very high blood pressure and his festering, untreated accident injuries were fast taking him to the point of no return and he knew it. He drifted in and out of consciousness; sometimes his mind seemed as clear as a bell and he felt that he still possessed all his mental faculties, despite the fact that his ageing, abused body was literally disintegrating as he lay there. But there were also long periods when he became dissociated from reality; his mind wandered and he knew not where he was, nor why he was there. There were times when he seemed to be truly losing his mind.

He fell into a disturbed sleep when all of a sudden he felt a dull thud in his stomach. He opened his eyes but could not work out what was happening. The thuds in his stomach continued, but he barely felt them. He tried to open his eyes to see what was going on but soon gave up the struggle. As he became more roused, he realised that someone was kicking him and shouting at him in Thai. He had no idea what they were saying and didn’t care. The kicks had little effect on him as he was simply too far gone to care. After a while the kicks finally stopped and he vaguely realised that he was being dragged across the floor of the cell and dumped unceremoniously against one of the walls. He grimly deduced that the cell must be filling up to overflowing and that his body had been in the way. Hopefully, now he was against the wall, they would all leave him alone. Leave him alone to sleep. He knew his time was up and he knew that soon he would die.

Once more his mind jumped back to his childhood. Is that what happens when you are near to death? he asked himself. You start to regress and your past life comes back to haunt you? Where was he now? His thoughts once more turned to his childhood and his domineering, terrifying father. He remembered his years at St Andrews junior school and the wonderful Mr Kempson. How he had left the school as top of the class, to everyone’s amazement and not a few jealous remarks. Then what? There was that eventful summer holiday – the long break before he started his first term at his new grammar school. Oh, what a strange and traumatic holiday that turned out to be.……